Rock the Boat, Baby! archived, dead story
by Dorkus O'Reilly
Summary: Weaver dates a hipster mom, Takata and Abby bond, Jerry and Malik plan a surprise party for an unlikely candidate.
1. Starboard

He was bouncing. Not jumping, so much, but certainly bouncing. With all the children that flooded the ER on a regular basis, Kerry Weaver noted, most of them were sad, scared or abused. This one, however, was the picture of joy. A smile stretched across his freckled face, feet scrabbling about on the rolling bed like he was on a runaway surf board. He was so absorbed in his strange little game that he didn't notice Kerry enter the room until she spoke.  
"Hi there," she said, pitching her voice to a kinder, higher octave, the way she usually did with kids.   
The boy stopped bouncing.  
"Hi, doc," he said, dropping to a sitting position on the cot.  
"You're not here all by yourself, are you?" Kerry asked, walking so that she stood beside him.  
"My mom's here," he said, "she just went to the bathroom." Kerry studied the room briefly; no blood, no discarded gloves, no sign of struggle. The kid, aside from a slightly grubby appearance, looked fine.  
"Is she the patient, or are you?" Kerry asked.  
"She is." The chart, which seemed as though it had been hurriedly discarded, was face-down bed. She checked the name; Carter. She made a clucking noise with her tongue, realizing only afterwards that she had done it. It was her private sound, something she did only when moved to, after happening upon something that struck her in a particular way. Carter certainly hadn't prompted it much, certainly not since his battle with Vicodin. It wasn't like him to leave a patient unattended but, keeping recent events in mind, Kerry dismissed his negligence. She would handle it from there.  
"Lynn Murray, possible dislocated shoulder," she murmured to herself, running a finger down the list of symptoms, "possible hairline fracture..."  
"Yeah," the child piped up, "it like got all twisted out of it's socket and stuff. It was really gross."  
He wrinkled his nose. Kerry smiled.  
"I'm sure it is."  
"She was screaming bloody murder," the kid continued, "and said a lot of bad words."  
Kerry smiled again, hanging the chart on the bed.  
"How long has she been gone for?" The kid shrugged.  
"A couple of minutes," he replied, "they shot her in the arm to stop it from hurting and she said she had to pee and that nobody would let her so--" He was interrupted by a loud throat-clearing noise, towards which they both turned.  
"Hi mom!" the kid said brightly, "here's the doc." The woman smiled kindly, wincing slightly as she entered the room. She was carrying her right shoulder oddly and, as the child had reported, it looked badly disfigured. She wasn't a tall person, but her presence made her seem so. It wasn't overpowering; in fact, it was just the opposite. She seemed fresh, like a new book, hair bright black, eyes dark brown. Same freckles as the kid. She would, Kerry knew, be an easy patient.  
"Let me take a look at that arm," Kerry said briskly, leading the woman towards the cot. The kid hopped down, perching haphazardly in a nearby chair.  
"They're gonna pop your arm back in, mom," he said. The woman grimaced.  
"Don't say that!" she wailed, "you know that stuff makes me sick to my stomach. Don't make your poor mom vomit!" The kid grinned, but was silent.  
"Someone else came in here before," the woman said, addressing Kerry, "Dr. Carter or something like that. He's so young! A baby!" Kerry smiled, pulling up the woman's sleeve to examine the arm.  
"I remember when he first started," she mused, feeling along the bicep and shoulder, "he really was a baby then."  
"Makes me feel ancient," said the woman, "all these Doogie Howsers running around, calling orders, waving needles... I'm not ready for that... But I guess I've got a few more good years left in me."  
"Mom," the kid cut in, "you're not old."  
"Thanks, hon," she replied, then turned back to Kerry.  
"He's just being sweet, Doctor," she explained, "Doctor... Doctor what, if I may ask?"  
"Weaver," Kerry replied; she was nearing the forearm, going as slowly as she could as not to aggravate the injury.  
"Doctor Weaver," the woman repeated, "Lynn Murray but please, Lynn. That other doc insisted on Mrs. Murray; made me feel like my mother." Kerry hummed her agreement, schooled fingers stopping around a swollen patch of tissue.  
"Right here," she said, tapping the spot gently, "I'm afraid your son is right--we will have to pop this back in." Lynn sighed, sliding her hair away from her face.  
"Oh, doc," she said, "do we have to?" Her lower lip pooched out in the classic "sad face."  
"That's what Cairo does when I have to take him to the dentist," she explained, "isn't that right, Cairo?" The boy didn't even look up, his nose buried in a sketchbook.  
"He's drawing," Lynn said in a low voice, "it's like he can't even hear me." Abby darted in, shoes squeaking on the waxed floor.  
"Chen said you might need me," she said breathlessly, "what's the order?"  
"I'd say... Ativan and Lidocaine, for a dislocation and possible break," Kerry replied, "use your judgement." Abby nodded, pulling two vials from her pocket.  
"Done and done," she said, earning herself a smile. She moved towards the counter, cracking the seal on the little bottles and slipping the needles inside.  
"Both of those?" Lynn asked suspiciously as Abby approached the cot, tray in hand.  
"I'm afraid so." Lynn sighed, rolling up her sleeve once more.  
"Go for it," she said, "jab away, darlin'." To Kerry's surprise, Abby blushed, two dots of pink appearing just above her cheekbones. There was something in the tone, in the word choice, in something, that must have made her do it, Kerry wondered... But what? The doctor felt her own face heat up, and she absently pressed a cooling hand against her jawline. Abby recovered and shot the needles home, dropping them into the sharps box on her way out.  
"She's a sweetie," Lynn commented, "a little nervy, though." Kerry smiled privately at the description of Abby; 'nervy' was fitting, somehow, though not a word that came readily to mind.  
"Okay, now," Kerry began, placing one hand under Lynn's armpit and the other at the base of her elbow, "I'm going to slowly rotate your arm..." The muscle rolled underneath her fingers as her palms pressed upwards, inching it forward.  
"... Then... Twist!" There was a snapping noise as the arm rocketed back into position, nearly knocking Lynn flat on her back.  
"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, "you did it!" She looked at her newly restored limb in absolute awe.  
"It's going to be a little sore for a while," Kerry warned, "so don't do too much too fast. Take Tylenol for pain and ice it if it swells. I'm going to give you a sling and we'll get the results back from Radiology as soon as I track them down." Abby, hearing the key word "radiology," popped her head back in.  
"Negative for fracture," she said, ducking back out once more, hauling on her trauma smock as she ran towards the ambulance bay.  
"So you're free to go," Kerry said, rummaging under the counter for a soft sling. She found one and fitted it gently around Lynn's shoulder.  
"We're done," Lynn called to Cairo, "so get off your butt!" Cairo, hearing her this time, snapped his notebook shut.  
"Quicker than the last time!" he said.  
"Yes, well last time SOMEONE got stuck in a finger trap... MUCH more complicated," Lynn quipped, pinching her son on his ear.  
"Stop by the admit desk and sign out with Jerry," Kerry called after them. She watched as they swung into formation with the rest of the crowd, and crutched off to pull another chart.  
  
***  
  
Takata had the scissors in his hand.  
"Should I or shouldn't I?" he asked Abby, who stood looking over his shoulder into the mirror.  
"Do it," she said, "I would."  
"But I don't know," Takata said, examining his profile carefully, running a hand along his chin.  
"Do it!" Abby encouraged, "rock the boat, baby!" Takata squinted at his reflection, suddenly turning and handing the scissors to Abby.  
"No," he said, "you do it."  
"Me? I can't cut hair!" Takata let out an exasperated sigh.  
"Abby, please."  
"I can't, Yosh."  
"Can't what?" The two turned towards the voice.  
"Susan!" they cried in unison. Soon, Takata was seated in the highest chair they could find, a surgical drape around his neck.  
"You do know what you're doing, right?" he asked.  
"Yes," Dr. Lewis replied, "now stop moving." Takata did as he was told. Tendrils of soft black hair fell onto the blue drape, Susan piloting the scissors expertly.  
"You are going to look cute, Yosh," she said, "one hot nurse, comin up!"  
"I looked cute before!" Takata objected, swiveling around to look at her.  
"Don't move!" Susan and Abby chorused. 


	2. Port

The music was too loud--Malik and Jerry's fault, no doubt--the desk was a mess and several doctors, two of whom Kerry didn't recognize, had passed out on a nearby gurney. Frank, his mouth coated in white powder, was shouting over the din, a phone reciever in each fat hand. Kerry watched the scene, feeling the energy drain out of her. Great way to start a shift. Frank was yelling into his receivers.  
"ER... Hello. Hello?"  
"One at a time, Frank," Kerry berrated him, slapping her briefcase down on the admit desk, "and turn that down!" Jerry reached for the radio knob, giving Kerry a dark look that he thought she didn't catch. Waving it off inwardly, Kerry crutched to the lounge, pushing through the door with a heavy sigh.  
"Dr. Weaver," Takata burst in, coming up behind her, "We've got a trauma coming in. Multiple MVA, possible DOS..." Kerry followed behind him, marveling, for a moment, at his deft steps. He wove in and out of the crowd, his back straight and purposeful, gliding along effortlessly. Kerry thought, if fleetingly, that he must be an excellent dancer. But there wasn't much dancing to be done; she was soon elbow-deep in bright red blood, the front of her trauma smock streaked, her hands slippery on the rib spreader. She heard her own voice, heard it barking orders, and let it slip away from her, let herself watch and listen as though she was quite far away. She stopped, pulling off her gloves, only when the surgeons rushed in, dragging the gurney away from her and her team to head for the OR. Looking at the clock, she realized they'd been at it for over an hour, pumping and cracking and squeezing, poking and prodding and fussing. She walked back into the lounge, finishing what she'd started, pausing to remove her jacket and scarf. The scarf gave a little twitch as she put it to rest in her locker, quirking at her like a small snake. She smiled, touching the fronds of dangling fringe, remembering the wildlife she missed. Africa. She hadn't gone back since Kim had left--she'd been avoiding it, almost associating her homeland with loss. She'd told herself that she hadn't needed to go, was busy setting up house with Sandy and... But it was all done, all done, and now she could... Looking at the drab interior of the lounge, she wondered why she didn't, why she didn't want to take off and go but preferred to be sweetly reminded of it all, tickled by the sight of her scarf as a snake. The feeling didn't leave, which was odd, for Kerry's moments of dreamery were fleeting, especially when bogged down with work. But something, something kept them going... Kept her mind filled with an extra bit of gossamer, an inkling of impractical thought. This lasted all through her shift, which buzzed by in a blur of routine familiarity. She trundled into Doc's as the sun was just rising, stamping through the piles of snow that had magically accumulated whist she saved lives indoors. Settling herself into an empty booth, she paged through the menu she knew by heart, not bothering to take her gloves off. She'd just ordered a Belgian waffle when a small voice cut through the clatter and bang of the morning kitchen.  
"Mom! Mom, over there! Do you see? It's the doctor!" At first, Kerry didn't look up--most of the patrons at Doc's were, in fact, doctors and the voice in question could have been referring to any of them--but when the sound of urgent feet drew closer to where she sat she was compelled to raise her head. The little freckled boy. What had his name been? Something odd, Kerry remembered, the name of a city. Had it been Chicago? She nearly laughed aloud; a little boy in Illinois named Chicago. But that, she was fairly certain, hadn't been his name.  
"Hello," she said, trying not to appear startled.  
"Hi, doc," the boy said, his mother coming up beside him.  
"Sorry," she offered, looking sheepishly at Kerry, "I--"  
"It's no problem," said Kerry, trying desperately to place the woman standing in front of her, "don't worry about it."  
"Lynn," the woman said, "Lynn Murray. Dislocated shoulder?" In an instant, it came back to her.  
"That's right," she said, "I--I'm sorry, there are... There are a lot of patients..." She could feel herself stumbling, wishing she could recant her words. A faux pas, but not the sort she usually made. Smooth talking, especially with strangers, was something that came with the territory of being an ER physician; in fact, it was more than half the battle. This time, however, Kerry had choked on her own foot. 


	3. First Deck

Recover. Breathe. In. Out. Eyes track in.  
Good save.  
  
Kerry adjusted her focus, moving it outward from within. Lynn--the woman across from her, bright eyes on hers--Lynn--the patient with the dislocated shoulder--Lynn, a series of mental data blips--was saying something, something Kerry almost didn't hear.  
  
"... Such good care from you guys," Lynn was saying, digging into a large salad slathered with what smelled like ranch dressing. Kerry stared at the salad, not remember it's arrival.  
  
"Are you feeling all right, Dr. Weaver?"  
  
Kerry closed her eyes a moment, letting the darkness wash over her.  
  
"I'm fine," she replied, "just... had a long night."  
  
The child chirped in then, from around a square of grilled cheese.  
  
"But it's morning now," he said.  
  
"I work from night until morning," Kerry explained, watching the kid bite into the sandwich, gumming it, really, for he was missing his two front teeth, "I'm just going home now."  
  
The kids eyes were round and wide.  
  
"Wow," he said, "you work late!"  
  
Kerry and Lynn exchanged a smile over his head. It was a nice smile, a nice little moment, one that Kerry noted only after it had passed. It was that easy, a nice little pat on the heart.  
  
"Want some?" Lynn offered, pushing the salad towards her.  
  
"This early?" Kerry laughed.  
  
Lynn shrugged.  
  
"Never too early for greens, " she said, winking, "doctor."  
  
******  
  
Takata put a hand to his head, feeling the stiffness there.   
  
"Spikey," he said to no one. He pulled a strand, poking the tip with his finger.  
  
He liked it, making a mental note to tell Susan when she came in.  
  
Sinking into the couch, he let himself relax, breathing into the soreness in his back.  
The lounge door flapped open, swinging back against the air as it closed. Takata, through closed eyes, knew immediately who it was from the silence--Gallant. He was the only one who didn't stomp, didn't flap, didn't barge. He was polite, polite on the verge of cautious, his shoes making light padding noises on the linolium floor.  
  
Gallant sat down in an armchair, sighing loudly than he meant to. Takata opened one black eye.  
  
"Trouble, there?" he asked, not moving his head.  
  
Gallant jumped.  
  
"Sorry," he said, righting himself, "did I wake you?"  
  
Takata smiled slowly.  
  
"I wasn't asleep."  
  
Gallant nodded sheepishly at him, then returned to brooding, chin in hands.  
  
"Why are you so down in the dumps?" Takata asked, leaning forward.  
  
He liked the young man, admired his prowess and control over his craft. It took a lot to work the ER, took a lot out of a shy, dedicated and honest person, precisely the kind of person Gallant was. Diplomatic, calculated and even-tempered. He reminded Takata of Mark Green, even more so than Carter, in his near flawless ability to stay abreast of a sticky situation. Always modest, always ducking his head, always out of the way.  
  
Gallant looked at Takata suspiciously, searching his face. When he felt it was safe, he opened his mouth.  
  
"I... Ahh..."  
  
"Scouts honor," Takata broke in, holding up his hand.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Scouts honor. I won't tell."  
  
This got him a smile.  
  
"That's better," Takata said, "now what's the problem. Pretend I'm... Pretend I'm your mother."  
  
Another smile.  
  
"I... Man, I sound so... Trivial," fumed Gallant, "I... I feel... Like... Like my head is swimming with... with... Her."  
  
"Her?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Gallant looked as though he had swallowed something sour, face contorted in discomfort.  
  
"Then why all the fuss?"  
  
"I don't know... She's... She's older, and taken and..."  
  
Takata began to smile.  
  
"She--she--she... Works here," Gallant finally admitted, "she... Um... She works, like, here, here in the ER..."  
  
"Are you going to tell me who she is?" Takata asked, dropping his voice to a whisper to match Gallants.  
  
Gallant's eyes searched the room.  
  
"Nobody else is in here," whispered Takata.  
  
"Ok," Gallant said, "okay, um... It's... It's... It's..."  
  
And together, they both said  
  
"ABBY." 


	4. Mast

She was good tired.  
  
Curled under blankets, still dressed, Kerry let her weight drop into the mattress, easing the pain in her legs. Sighing deep in her chest, she uncurled her toes, flexed the tight spots in her writing hand.  
  
If only life was as simple as a good bed.  
  
She let her thoughts drift freely then, as her body sank into her exaughtsion; if it was one thing she'd learned from her years in the ER, it was how to make the last bits of energy last. She was reminded of the River Phoenix film "Running on Empty," for that's exactly what it was... Chugging away on those precious few fumes until, finally, it came to an end.  
  
Lynn had offered a ride, which she'd gratefully taken, though not entirely understood; she wanted to understand it as a thank you, but something wouldn't let her. The feeling didn't stay long as Cairo, the child, held court in the back seat, chattering nonstop the entire way.  
  
"Cairo, take a pill," Lynn had said, laughing over his one-sided conversation, "sit down and give the doc a rest!"  
  
Cairo, take a pill. Kerry remembered this, repeated it. Take a pill, take a pill. It had a nice ring to it; take a pill, take a pill. She smiled under her covers. Kerry, take a pill.  
  
*****  
They were up to something.  
  
Secret smiles, suspicious glances, odd hand signals. Funny-shaped packages spirited away in lockers and behind boxes of gloves.  
  
Susan was trying to catch them.  
  
It was Jerry who gave it away; Malik could keep a secret better than any of them, but Jerry was a dead giveaway.  
  
"What's going on, boys?" Susan asked mock-wearily, setting down a stack of charts.  
  
"The ceiling," Malik supplied, glowering at Jerry, who put on his special Queen-of-England-"I'm-Innocent" smile.  
  
"Nothing," Jerry said, casting his eyes away, "not a thing."  
  
Susan wasn't buying it.  
  
"Oh, you guys," she admonished, waving a tongue depressor at their foolish faces, "better not come crying to me when whatever it is blows up in your faces..."  
  
The boys exchanged glances and winked at one another, giving the high sign.  
  
"Nobody will see it coming," Malik whispered, grinning.  
  
*****  
  
Gallant was asleep. Very asleep.  
  
"Where the hell is that kid?" Chen demanded, standing in the middle of the admit area, charts in hand, "I have some really good stuff for him and he's gone AWOL."  
  
"I wouldn't say that word too loudly," said Abby, not looking up from her paperwork, "you can never be too careful."  
  
"What word?"  
  
"The AWOL word."  
  
"What?"  
  
Abby put down her pen.  
  
"Remember when I... Remember that thing with my brother? You never know when those Army narcs are hanging around. So ix-nay, if you don't mind. I don't want to spook the poor guy."  
  
Chen sighed impatiently.  
  
"Where is he, dammit?" she demanded, spinning on her heel to check behind her, as though the med student might be sneaking up on her.  
  
"I think he's in sutures," Takata replied calmly from his corner. Chen spun towards him, hair flying in an arc around her head.  
  
"What the hell is he doing in there?"  
  
"Sleeping," Takata replied.  
  
"Sleeping?"  
  
"Someone pulled a Malucci," Takata replied, "he got himself stuck."  
  
"With what?"  
  
Takata shrugged.  
  
"Frequent flier," he replied, "wanted 'something for the pain' but ended up getting a different kind of 'ol. As in 'Hal,' not 'demer.'  
  
Chen chuckled, shaking her head.  
  
"Do you think he's... Recovered?"  
  
Takata looked at the clock.  
  
"Could have," he replied, "Abby, why don't you go get him?"  
  
Abby picked her head up.  
  
"Me? Why me?"  
  
Takata's face showed nothing.  
  
"I don't know... You're closer?"  
  
Abby shrugged, pushing off to rouse the sleeping Gallant.  
  
"Hey!" she shouted, ducking her head into sutures, "rise and shine!"  
Nothing.  
  
"Gallant?"  
  
Still nothing.  
  
"Gallant? Gallant, you better not be dead in here."  
  
She was answered by a soft snort and a mumble.  
  
"Galannnt..."  
  
"MMmmm."  
  
"Wake up, golden boy," she said, poking him.  
  
He opened one brown eye. The eye tracked slowly around the room, then shut.  
  
"Mmgrrr."  
  
"Gallant, time to get up!"  
  
Abby shook his arm, watching his body rock back and forth with the motion.  
  
"Oh, for christs sake."  
  
With her forefinger and thumb, Abby gently parted his eyelid, shining her penlight down into it. Sure enough, the student jerked forward.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
He threw his hands out in front of his face, blocking his eyes.  
  
"Owww!" he screamed.   
  
Abby smirked at the delayed reaction. Gallant blinked a few times, gripping the side of the cot to steady his rolling head. He looked at Abby, stare glassine.  
  
"That's great, Gallant. You're high as a kite."  
  
He was watching her, mouth open.  
  
"I'm... I'm in heaven," he mumbled, then fell back against the cot.  
  
Abby rolled her eyes.  
  
"Ohhhh boy," she said, rolling Gallant onto his side, "ohhh boy." 


	5. Five

Kerry enjoyed a lazy Sunday. It was one of her few guilty pleasures, besides a good glass of Scotch and perhaps--perhaps--a snippet or two of horrid daytime TV. But only when she was sick, which was... Well, hardly ever, but it was then and only then that she'd allow herself to dip into the lives of her favorite trashy characters.  
  
What she had missed most about being single were her Sunday mornings. Just her, the bacon, the eggs, the orange juice, and the morning paper. Nothing between her and the Tribune, her and the Times, her the assorted outside rags she had imported to her Chicago home. These included a variety in Afrikaans, few of which she could actually read with any true ability.  
  
But Sandy, Sandy had had her own agenda. Sunday was sleep hellaciously late, eat bad food in front of the television and take too long in the bathroom day. There was nothing routine, nothing sacred about the way she treated her day of rest, just a loud morning of staccato snores and the endless drone of the TV. It was not that Kerry so much disliked the display--and she did, without question--but that she fundamentally disagreed with it. It had been fun, for a time, donning Sandy's customary football beer hat and downing Fritos, but she missed her luxurious, un-hectic routine of eating and reading... Slowly.  
  
That Sunday, Kerry had risen with a good feeling in the pit of her stomach. The shower had pounded the tension knots out of her back and her warm flannel pants took the customary cold out of her ankles. If legwarmers ever came back into style, Kerry swore she'd buy them by the caseload.  
  
After her meal, she set out for a brisk walk, head titled towards the shining sun. It was a crisp Chicago morning, the kind she loved, with the blue-blue sky bright overhead.   
  
As she walked, she composed a mental shopping list. Teriyaki sauce, some fresh salmon, a little box of blueberries, cheddar cheese. A can of olives and some mustard, perhaps a pot of jam. Frivolous things, but these were the things she liked.  
  
She knew it was her lucky day as soon as she entered the supermarket. Some ingenious member of the managerial staff had decided to forego traditional Muzak for an upbeat, peppy oldies station, which, to her intense joy, was blasting the Temptations up and down every single isle.  
  
Doing a modified softshoe, cane and all, Kerry swung her cart towards the meats, looking for a nice prime rib she could make for her last official barbeque of the season. A nice stir-fry would suffice, she thought, with a few red peppers mixed in, burnt ever so slightly around the edges the way she liked.  
  
"Dr. Weaver!"  
  
Kerry turned, her shopping cart hitting the metallic edge of the meat case.  
  
"Ms--Lynn," she said, in surprise, catching sight of the other woman standing just yards from her, arms overloaded in toilet paper. Lynn caught her staring and laughed.  
  
"Two kids," she explained, "one of them a teenager."  
  
Kerry nodded, smiling.  
  
"Ah-ha," she said.  
  
To both her delight and her dismay, Lynn pulled her cart up alongside of Kerry's, leaning back on her right foot in the causal stance of one who might be conversing for some time. It struck Kerry then that she really didn't know what to say.  
  
Half an hour later, in the midst of a heated discussion over Edward Albee's most recent theatrical endeavor, Kerry harkened back to that thought, wondering what she had ever been nervous about. Lynn was... Well, Lynn made it easy. They fell into conversation almost immediately, occupying much of the meat section with both themselves and their groceries.  
  
"Listen," Lynn said, as an elderly woman dirty-looked them away from the area, "Why don't we grab coffee later this week?"  
  
Kerry mentally checked her schedule.  
  
"As long as it's not Tuesday or Wednesday," she replied, "I've got a double shift."  
  
Lynn nodded, a dimple showing in her left cheek,  
  
"Sounds great."   
  
From her wallet she plucked a slender blue square of paper.  
  
"My card," she explained.  
  
Kerry accepted it, turning it over in her hand.  
  
"You're a teacher," she said.  
  
"Yes, and a private tutor."  
  
They looked at each other a moment, eye to eye.  
  
"And here's mine," Kerry replied, by and by, fishing hers from the bottom of her purse, "not as pretty, but..."  
  
"It's lovely," said Lynn, tucking it safely into her pocket, "I'll be in touch."  
  
******  
  
Gallant was awake by morning.  
  
"You look cheery," Susan snickered as he walked past admit, rubbing sleep from his eyes.  
  
"Did you rest up?" Chen chided him, giving him an elbow to the ribs. He seemed not to notice, grabbing a chart and ignoring the string of glances from his colleagues.   
  
"What's with him?" Abby asked, breezing past on her way from the lounge, sucking on a candy.  
  
"Just woke up from the Haldol," Takata replied, "hey, is that a Tootsie pop?"  
  
Abby nodded, giving a hearty crunch.  
  
"Can I have one?"   
  
Abby shrugged, palms up.  
  
"Got it off a patient."  
  
"A patient?"  
  
"Birthday clown."  
  
Takata shuddered.  
  
"Ewwww," he said, "clowns."  
  
He turned in time to see Gallant slump out of the lounge.  
  
"No coffee," Gallant mumbled.  
  
"What, you can't make it yourself?" Abby asked.  
  
Gallant looked at her like he'd been shot.  
  
"Um," he replied, "ahh..."  
  
"I'll take that as a no," Abby said, dropping her chart onto the desk, "come on. I'll show ya."  
  
Takata smiled behind his hand.  
  
Back in the lounge, Gallant watched with full attention as Abby assembled the coffee maker.   
  
"... And then you press this button and... Gallant?"  
  
His stare was fixed, mind somewhere else.  
  
"Gallant?"  
  
She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes and he started.  
  
"Are you listening?"  
  
"Yes!" he said loudly.  
  
Abby smirked at him.  
  
"You don't have to shout."  
  
"Sorry, sorry."   
  
Gallant cleared his throat.  
  
"Mind in the gutter, Gallant?"  
  
Abby watched as the student turned fifteen shades of purple from beneath his dark skin.  
  
"Ahaha, I gotcha!" she crowed, pulling up a chair so she could sit beside him, "care to share?"  
  
"No," Gallant said.  
  
"Come on... Who is she?"  
  
"There is no she."  
  
"He then?"  
  
Gallant gave Abby a look.  
  
"No! Not... Not that there's anything wrong with that."  
  
Abby took a slug of her coffee.  
  
"You men and your sexual insecurities," she said, setting her cup down on the counter, "it's so... Petty."  
  
"And women don't have them?" Gallant asked, placing his coffee beside hers.  
  
"Not with each other."  
  
"Not even over men?"  
  
"That's not what I meant."  
  
Gallant got it, his face cycling through the purple spectrum once more.  
  
"You are such a kid!" Abby laughed, smacking him on the knee, "making you blush is so much fun!"  
  
She rose from her chair, slapping the swinging door open with the flat of her hand. Turning to Gallant, she made a face.  
  
"Ooo!" she said, resting a hand just below her lower back, "that hurt!"  
  
Gallant nearly fell out of his chair. 


End file.
